


Conflicted

by Special Agent FUNK (RavenRune)



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Arguing, Carlos is feeling very torn, Character Study, Established Relationship, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt and comfort later on, I am terrible at tagging, No beta we die like Mendez, Of Carlos of course, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Set around 2002/2003, i got carried away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29931126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenRune/pseuds/Special%20Agent%20FUNK
Summary: Carlos struggles with the past. He is sick of fighting and desires change, but he just can't leave his past as a mercenary behind him.He wants to discuss it with his partner, but she's struggling to get through to him.
Relationships: Carlos Oliveira/Reader, Carlos Oliveira/You
Kudos: 8





	1. You need help

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to write some fluff, hurt/comfort and Carlos talking about what he really wants to do with his life, but my brain decided to write this instead. There will be a chapter two with actual hurt/comfort and fluff.

“I'm sick of fighting,” Carlos stated as he walked into the bedroom, wearing only a pair of boxers. He sighed. “So fucking sick of fighting, I just… I can’t do it anymore.” He slid into the bed and lied down with his back turned towards you.

You could see his shoulders were tense and hear his breath hitch in his throat. You moved onto your side and closed the distance he put between the two of you, placing your arm around his waist.

“Then stop.”

“I can’t, docinha, it’s all I’ve ever done in my life. Fight for a cause. A bad cause, a good cause. Nowadays I don’t even know what I am fighting for. Is it for you? To provide for you? For my family? For safety? For my friends? I don’t fucking know.” His voice lowered to a whisper, barely audible. “I’m done, docinha, I am just so done right now.”

You took a slow, deep breath before replying, trying to calm the nervous feeling that took a hold of you after finally confessing what you know had been bothering him for months.  
“You don’t have to fight for me. I don’t want you to fight anymore, you know that. I can provide for the both of us, at least for the time being.” You hesitated. “I hate it when you leave, I hate not knowing if you’ll ever return to me. I hate worrying about you, about your injuries and about your mental health… I think it’s time you got some help.”

“Help?” Carlos huffed. “What a joke.”

“Yes, professional help. To learn how to cope with the past, to process the ridiculous amount of traumatic events you have witnessed. To finally goddamn learn that you’re more than a soldier, because when I tell you that, you never believe me.” You lifted the arm that had been around his waist and softly started caressing his face, noticing your fingers got a little wet. “Please... just…”

Silence. You figured Carlos was crying, but weren’t too sure whether or not to say something about it. Sometimes he would hide it, sometimes he would not. It made you feel insecure when it happened, as you weren’t always sure how to respond to other people’s emotions.

“Carlos?” You broke the silence. “What do you want? I mean, if you could do anything, if money wasn’t an issue, if time wasn’t an issue, if I wasn’t an issue, what would you be doing with your life?”

Carlos finally turned around to face you and pulled you against his warm body. He actually was crying. “You, an issue? You are never an issue, you’ve been a fucking godsent for the past two years or so.”

“Not what I asked.” You replied, a bit sternly. “What would you be doing?”

“You’ll laugh at me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Unless your lifelong dream is to become a circus clown, I would never laugh at you… though I guess it would kind of suit you.” You snuggled up to him and laid your head on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, which normally made you feel comfortable and safe, but this time, it was beating rapidly, just further proof that he was in quite a bit of distress. “Please tell me.”

Carlos sighed and wiped one of those damn tears off his cheek. “It’s not that it’s embarrassing, or whatever, it’s just that I never got a formal education. I never even finished high school, I’m as uneducated as it gets.”

“And?”

“I can only fight, Y/N. I am in my mid-twenties and all I can fucking do is fight. It’s too late.” Carlos grabbed your hand and squeezed it tightly. “I just want to take care of you, gatinha.”

You muttered something under your breath in disagreement. “No. You need to take care of yourself first. And I think that would mean getting some damn help. It’s been years, Carlos, and you haven’t even given it a shot.” You could feel your heart had started pounding in your chest. You weren’t the confrontational type, but sometimes you didn’t really have a choice.

Carlos remained silent. You weren’t entirely sure if he was listening, or if he was trying to suppress the urge to start shouting.

“If you really want to take care of me, you need to learn to cope with the past first. You matter just as much as the people you love, and we, your parents, your sisters, Leon, Jill, Diego, Elle and I, we really don’t want to lose you because you take another stupid contract with a stupid organization that you don’t even know anything about...”

You paused, knowing this one would hit a nerve. “You felt so much guilt after Raccoon City, because you worked for Umbrella. And it wasn’t your fault, absolutely not, but it might very well happen again because you still don’t know who you work for most of the time. Do you really want a repeat of that sort of thing?”

You could feel his muscles tense around your body. This had always been a touchy subject. The man was kind, he was charming, he was caring, he was perfect in almost every way, but bringing up the past had always been a no-go, as were the private military contracts he still accepted to make some money. He hated them as much as you did, but he genuinely didn’t seem to understand that there was more to life than fighting.

After a tense moment of complete silence, Carlos pushed you off of him and abruptly left the bed. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand,” you whispered, fighting the panic attack that was starting to get a hold of you. “Please. Just tell me what you really want.”

Carlos shook his head and started putting on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. “No.”

“Where are you going?” You tried to sit up, hyperventilating, now with a full blown panic attack. “Carlos?”

He shot you a quick glace before putting his boots on, banging his head against a wall in the process. “Fuck. I’m leaving.”

“Where?”

“Away. Just. I’m leaving.”

You slid out of bed and tried to block the doorway, to prevent him from leaving. “No, we really need to talk.”

Carlos grabbed a firm hold of your arm and just pulled you out of the doorway. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, walking downstairs.

“You’ll be back, right?” You yelled after him, slumping against a wall, shaking like a leaf.

You heard Carlos grab his jacket from the little hallway and open the door.

“Carlos?! Please, you will be back right?” You were trying hard not to scream, but panic had completely taken over and you were starting to lose control.

“I don’t know,” Carlos growled. “I need to think.” And with those words, he slammed the door shut behind him.


	2. Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from the reader's point of view and focuses on the hour or two right after Carlos slammed the door and walked away.  
> Next one will focus almost solely on Carlos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos on chapter one, I appreciate them.  
> I got carried away. Instead of writing two chapters, there will be four.  
> Oops.

Right after Carlos had left the house, you just sat there at the top of the stairs, unable to move, waiting for the panic attack to end. You had been familiar with them in your late teens and early twenties, so you knew it would only last ten to twenty minutes before your heart rate would return back to normal, your breathing would normalize and the tingling sensations in your arm and face would subside.  
What you were left with, however, was an overwhelming sense of exhaustion and the feeling as though your limbs were freezing off. Those attacks definitely did a number on you, and you often felt blessed that they had not been occurring as often as they had in the past. 

On your hands and knees, you crawled back into the bedroom, shivering from the cold, and climbed onto the bed. There, you wrapped yourself in the large blanket you normally shared with your man. 

_Your man. Was he still your man? Or had you gone too far and pushed him away forever?_

The mere thought of Carlos not coming back was one that simply killed you inside. He wouldn’t do that, right? You had spent two years working on your relationship, and despite the ups and downs and the arguments, you had managed to meet each other in the middle.  
Instead of focusing on how different you were, you had started to learn from him instead. He had helped you get out of your comfort zone and build the self-confidence you needed to move forward in your own life.  
In turn, according to Carlos, he found comfort in your more analytical way of approaching the world around you. He appreciated you for thinking five steps ahead, and it had prevented him from getting into some sort of trouble on more than one occasion. He had always told you that you made him feel safe, made him feel _at home_ , a feeling that he had been craving for almost two decades, and wouldn’t trade for the world. 

Of course there was also the sexual attraction, the romantic gestures and the actual emotional bond that had formed between the two of you, but Carlos always gave off the impression that that feeling of coming home to you was something he treasured deeply, more than anything else.

Wrapped in your warm blanket, you worried about where Carlos had gone. Had he gone off to have a drink? Stay with a friend? Was he taking a walk outside in the gentle autumn rain?  
Too many thoughts clouded your mind, lowering your ability to think straight, so you decided to turn on the television to get your mind off of things. You figured it would be best to give him a bit of space before making an attempt to call him on his cellphone. 

~ 

The television didn’t help much. The shows that were on were mainly terrible soap operas and idiotic game shows with hosts that were too loud and obnoxious and acted a little bit too fake for your taste. You briefly started watching a documentary on the beauty of South America, but it ended up making you feel sad, as it reminded you of the stories Carlos had told you about the time he spent during his teenage years fighting for an anti-government guerilla organization. 

The panic attack had subsided completely, but your heart was still pounding in your chest, due to it being impossible to stop worrying about Carlos, his mental wellbeing and his whereabouts. 

Wih trembling hands, you picked up your cell phone. It wasn’t your intention to invade his personal space right now, you just needed to be sure he was safe. 

After a brief moment of hesitation, you dialed Carlos’ number and waited, hoping he would pick up the phone.  
After a few seconds, Carlos’ voice filled the room. “ _Óla! Carlos here. Or nah, not really here.” Can’t pick up ‘cause I’m probably doing something important, like eating a pizza, taking care of my tarantulas or showing my lady some new magic tricks. Just tell me what you need and I’ll call back as soon as possible. Tchau!”_

Damn voicemail. You hoped he wasn’t up to anything stupid. 

“Carlos, it’s me. I know you want to be left alone, and I respect that, but could you please just… just text me that you’re okay, or something? You got me all worried here.” You paused, not sure if this was the right time to say those words. “I do… I love you. Stay safe.”

You ended the call and sighed. For now, you’d just go to bed. You still had some of the sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed to you for the really bad nights, so maybe you’d be able to catch a few z’s.  
If Carlos came back while you were asleep, that would be fantastic. If not, you’d deal with the matter first thing tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Any form of feedback would be greatly appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed, please let me know. Comments would be immensely appreciated.


End file.
